


Target Practice

by MyFuzzyScarf



Series: Practice Makes Perfect [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Best Friends, Conflict Resolution, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Garrus's Loyalty Mission, Sniper Rifles, Target Practice, Vanguard (Mass Effect), practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFuzzyScarf/pseuds/MyFuzzyScarf
Summary: Shepard had never been great with sniper rifles, but she figured it was never too late to learn. And Garrus had been acting cold since the incident with Sidonis on the Citadel. So Shepard asked him for his help, hoping to kill two birds with one stone: he was the best sniper she knew, and a low-key round of target practice seemed an ideal way to get him talking. She hadn’t realized until now how much she relied on their easy friendship, and she was not about to let it go so easily.~*~This fic can be read as a stand-alone, or as a prequel to my other story, Practice. This Shepard is a Colonist Sole Survivor with a maxed-out Paragon score who also loves a good Renegade interrupt.
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: Practice Makes Perfect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210811
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Target Practice

“Remind me again why we’re going planetside for this?” Garrus asked.

Shepard was focused on the shuttle’s external cameras, trying to scope out the ideal spot. “Don’t want any prying eyes. Besides, the guy who runs the shooting range on the Citadel is an asshole.”

“That volus? No arguments there,” Garrus said with a snort. “How about that spot?” he added, pointing westward. The planet’s sun hovered in the eastern sky, casting a spotlight on a nearby cliff face. The sun would not obscure their vision here, and the landscape was hilly enough that the wind should be minimal. “Looks like we can fire into the rock without causing a landslide.”

“Good eye,” Shepard agreed, punching some instructions into the shuttle’s VI pilot.

“So,” Garrus said as the shuttle changed course, “what made you decide to train with sniper rifles all of a sudden?”

“Re-train,” she corrected him. “You don’t hit N7 without at least some training in all the weapons types. These were never my strong suit, though,” she added ruefully, picking up her weapon as the shuttle touched down. “But after that Collector ship, I’m starting to think that a little long-range training will come in handy. It can’t hurt, anyway.”

“Well, I’m happy to give you some pointers, though I don’t know that I can do better than seasoned military instructors,” he said. The door hissed open, and they stepped out into the fresh air.

“You’ll have an easier time than they did,” Shepard told him. “I was a little…hotheaded. At that age.”

“You? I can’t imagine,” Garrus deadpanned. He blinked in the sunlight, his flat nose twitching spastically. “This planet smells…strange. Kind of good, actually. Nice to get into some atmosphere every now and again.” He looked different under natural sunlight, the rays casting shadows in the ridges of his fringe and highlighting the sleek lines of his plating in shades of silver.

Shepard took a deep breath through her nose, but she could only smell the faintest hint of something earthy on the air. “Hmm. Can’t smell much of anything.” She smirked at him. “Must be a weird alien thing.”

“Hey, at least one of us has working senses,” Garrus teased. “Don’t know how your people evolved so far without being able to smell what’s around you.”

“Pure tenacity,” Shepard joked as she assembled her rifle.

It was a relief to exchange a little banter with Garrus. It had been a week since the incident with Sidonis on the Citadel, and Shepard had been walking on eggshells around her old friend the whole time. For his part, her turian squadmate had been unfailingly polite, but…distant. A little cold.

Shepard couldn’t have that. While she’d built a certain level of trust with her current team, and though she now had Tali back, Garrus had been here when she’d needed a friend the most; before she knew what was happening, this bold, stubborn young turian had become her _closest_ friend. His dry wit and steady presence had been an enormous comfort to her, and she liked to think that their long talks about his old squad had done him some good as well.

Garrus peered curiously at her chosen weapon. “A Viper, huh? Interesting choice.”

Shepard shrugged. “Figured that way I don’t have to reload every time I miss,” she confessed.

“There are mods for that, you know,” Garrus pointed out. “But honestly, I think it suits you. One-shot rifles don’t fit your style.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Shepard had to work to keep her surprise out of her tone—Garrus had grown quite a bit in the last two years. She needed to stop underestimating him. “So—where do we start?”

Garrus snapped his rifle together with practiced ease. Paying closer attention than usual, Shepard noticed that he placed his hands carefully, sliding them into what seemed like a familiar grip. “First, let’s see what you can do,” he said, lifting the scope to his eye. He made a few adjustments to the sights, and then fired a shot into the cliffside a hundred meters away.

Stepping aside, he nodded at Shepard. “Get as close to that mark as you can,” he told her.

Shepard looked dubiously at the distant wall, but lifted the scope to her eye. She took a deep breath, calling on her rusty training skills to find the right stance and grip. For a moment, she couldn’t find the hole that Garrus had left in the cliff face, but finally she caught a glimpse of it in the corner of her scope. She gritted her teeth as she lined up the shot, and just at the spot between exhale and inhale, she squeezed the trigger.

As the dust cleared, the shot still ringing in her ears, she saw what she’d suspected: her own projectile had landed much too high, and a meter to the right of her target.

“Not bad,” Garrus said. Shepard shot him a look, eyebrows raised, and he laughed. “Okay, for _you,_ it’s pretty bad. But I think you’re going to need to lower those golden standards of yours for the moment.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she mumbled, only half-joking, and he patted her armored shoulder.

“Even Commander Shepard is allowed to need a little practice,” he said, his tone unexpectedly sincere. “Now, first things first, you’re going to want to widen your stance a little, and line it up to forty-five degrees from your back sight line. Yes, like that. Now square your hips with your feet and your shoulders with your target—exactly. Try it again.”

His tone was so patient that Shepard almost felt patronized, but she swallowed her pride: she had _asked_ for his help, and this was the first time she’d gotten more than five consecutive words out of him in days. As she squeezed the trigger, she felt infinitely more in control of the recoil; the second shot hit much nearer to her target, though still too far to the right.

“Way better,” Garrus said. “But you won’t get a good balance with your grip like that. You’ll want your forward hand right around here.” He leaned over to show her, and suddenly Shepard was struck by how _good_ he smelled. They were rarely close enough to each other for her to notice a particular scent, but now she caught clear notes of leather and metal, with a spicy, musky undertone that reminded her of the fresh cloves her father used to cook with.

Shepard shook herself, sliding her hand forward a bit; suddenly the rifle felt much friendlier and more manageable in her hands. Without waiting for his cue, she lined up another shot; this time, she hit her mark perfectly.

“ _That’s_ more like it,” Garrus said. “Now, for the real lesson: moving targets.” He pulled up his omni-tool and tapped in a few commands; suddenly, holographic blue targets began bouncing around the field ahead of them. Shepard’s newfound confidence shrank a little.

“Any sniper will tell you it’s all about patience,” said Garrus, lifting his Mantis to his shoulder. He gazed down the scope, his stance and grip relaxed but precise. “Pick your target, then pick your moment. You can’t force it, you just have to be prepared for it.” A shot rang out, and one of the targets vanished from existence.

Shepard went to lift her gun, but Garrus cut her off. “Don’t look down the scope until you know where you’re aiming,” he advised. “Easiest way to lose track of your target. Pick your shot, _then_ line it up.”

Shoving down a rush of annoyance (along with the embarrassment that caused it), Shepard followed his advice again, her eyes following the path of one particular target before lifting the scope. Exhale, and…miss.

“Damn it,” she muttered, selecting a new target before lifting the scope back up to her eye.

“Tuck your elbows in,” Garrus said, demonstrating. His shot rang out, and another target vanished. “Helps with the recoil.”

“This thing barely _has_ a recoil,” Shepard muttered, hearing the discomfiture in her own voice, barely masked with humor.

Garrus gave a dry little laugh. “You said it, not me.”

Pulling her elbows in toward her body, Shepard took another shot at one of the hologram targets. This one fizzled out of existence as her shot disrupted its field, and she felt a little better. “Where’d you find this targeting sim, anyway? Is it turian-made?”

“You could say that,” Garrus drawled. “Specifically, Vakarian-made. I programmed it myself.”

“Huh. Impressive.” She took another shot. Miss. “ _Damn_ it.”

“Took me years to get it working,” he admitted, leaning casually on one leg. Shepard appreciated the way he pretended he wasn’t scrutinizing her stance.

“Good thing you did, or we’d have to shoot at each other,” she joked. “ _Fuck,_ ” she added under her breath as another shot missed its target.

Garrus’s mandibles fluttered in that way she’d come to realize was a turian smirk. “Bit of an uneven match, don’t you think?” He lifted his Mantis and fired at the fastest-moving target, which disappeared obligingly.

“Not if I had my pistol,” grumbled Shepard, reloading her rifle. “Who taught you to shoot? The military?”

“No—well, yes, but not before my father did.” Garrus, too, took this moment to reload. “Took me out three times a week for target practice from the time I turned ten.”

“Damn,” Shepard said. “Turians are intense.”

Garrus laughed dryly. “No, just my dad.”

He went quiet as Shepard lifted her rifle, choosing her target _before_ lifting the scope to her eye. Elbows tucked. Stance solid. Squeeze the trigger.

Miss.

Only her pride kept her from groaning in frustration.

“Take a break,” said Garrus, shutting down the interface; the targets blinked out of existence.

Shepard turned to look at him, indignant. “We just got here.”

“Trust me,” he said, flicking the safety on and laying his rifle carefully on the ground. He meandered to a nearby rock, the size of a love seat, and lowered himself onto it. “You’re way too tense,” he continued as she approached. “Used to happen to me, too. I sucked when I first started training with these.”

“Really?”

Garrus’s mandibles flicked in a self-deprecating smirk. “Why do you think my father took me out three times a week?”

Frustrated though she was, Shepard huffed a laugh and sat heavily beside him. “Well, it paid off. I wouldn’t accept weapons training from just anyone, you know.”

“Hah. Trying to flatter me, Shepard?” He stared at the ground, as though deep in thought, and Shepard felt a flutter of nerves. Maybe he was angrier with her than she thought.

“Only if it’s working,” she quipped, trying to mask her discomfort.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said lightly. He still wouldn’t look at her.

Suddenly, Shepard couldn’t take it anymore. “Garrus?”

“Yeah?”

“About what happened with Sidonis…are we—are you—upset with me?” She watched his face desperately for clues, but she had no idea how to interpret the twitch of his mandibles.

Garrus was quiet for a long moment, turning his gaze skyward. Finally he said, “Sometimes.”

Shepard’s heart dropped a little. “Fair enough,” she managed to say. She wasn’t sure where to go from there, so she fell silent.

“Why did you stop me?” Garrus asked, a few beats later.

Even Shepard wasn’t totally sure of the answer to that question. Unfortunately, the taking of lives was a part of their everyday routine. But it had always served some greater good: they were stopping someone from hurting others, in some way.

“I…I know what it’s like to lose everything to violence,” Shepard told him finally. “But you can’t solve death with more death.”

“And so Sidonis lives. With no consequences for the ten lives he ended.” Garrus’s voice had lowered to a deep growl.

“It’s not your responsibility to punish people,” Shepard said sharply. “Especially not people who are already punishing themselves. You’ve already got the weight of ten friends’ lives on your back, and you don’t need any more.”

“And what makes you so sure of what I need, Shepard?” he shot back. “A lot changed while you were gone. I’m not the same person I was two years ago.”

She bit back the sharp words that came to mind and settled for muttering, “Thanks for reminding me,” through gritted teeth, and then took a deep breath. “Let me ask you this. Would your squad have wanted you to hunt Sidonis down? Lure him to the Citadel and gun him down in the Wards?”

After a moment, Garrus surprised her by letting out a reluctant chuckle. “Guess it depends on which one of them you asked.”

“Fair enough,” Shepard said again, unable to suppress a smile.

“I just want to know I did right by them,” he murmured, hanging his head.

His grief yanked at her heart, bringing back echoes of the way she’d felt after losing her own squad on Akuze. She recalled a piece of advice delivered by Captain Anderson, a week after the deaths of her squadmates.

“’The only way you can let them down,’” she repeated aloud, “’is to stop moving forward. The people who care about you just want you to be happy.’ And I _know_ they cared about you.”

Shepard was surprised to hear a low keen swell from Garrus’s subharmonics, and it was one of the saddest sounds she’d ever heard. “Sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head embarrassedly.

“Don’t be,” she said, maybe a little too sharply.

“I’ve _already_ failed them, Shepard. They’re dead _because_ I failed them.” Another keen sounded from his throat; this must be how turians cried.

Despite the fact that they were both in full armor, Shepard placed a tentative hand on Garrus’s back. “I know the feeling,” she murmured earnestly, aching for him. “But Garrus, you had every major merc band and half the freelancers on Omega gunning for your squad of _twelve._ You can’t fault yourself for ‘failing’ against impossible odds. If anything, it’s a success that you survived.”

“Only because you saved my ass,” Garrus mumbled, his voice still unsteady.

“Yeah, well.” Shepard nudged her shoulder against his. “You’ve agreed to follow me on a suicide mission, so I think we can call it even.”

He let out a half-hearted laugh, and then they fell to silence: Garrus looked like he was deep in thought, his mandibles clamped tight to his face. His scars were half-healed now, but Chakwas had insisted that he still wear the bandage for a while until she was sure the cybernetics were sound. Shepard remembered helping Jacob and Zaeed lift him out of the pool of deep blue blood back on Omega, _so_ much blood, and onto the stretcher; she remembered being terrified that she was going to lose him already.

“Garrus?”

“Yeah, Shepard?”

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer for a few seconds. “For what?” he asked finally, looking down at her.

“I didn’t mean to—well…I feel like I stood in the way of your closure. I really thought I was doing the right thing, but if not…I’m sorry.” She kept eye contact, so he’d know she was sincere.

“I wasn’t crazy about having that choice made for me,” Garrus said, after a moment’s thought. “And I don’t like surprises in the middle of a mission. _Especially_ not surprises that put you directly in my scope.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “The most frustrating part is that you’re _right._ I would have regretted killing Sidonis. Especially after I saw him, heard him talk about it. He was my friend, once.”

“I know,” Shepard said earnestly, and Garrus shot her a look that clearly said, _don’t rub it in._ “Sorry, I mean—I knew I might be overstepping, but I just…couldn’t stand the thought of you having to kill a friend. I didn’t want you to have to live with that.”

“Guess you felt pretty strongly about it.” He was staring at his hands, his face completely impassive.

“Of course I did. Garrus, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re my best friend. I care about you.”

Garrus huffed a laugh. “Best friend, huh? Now I _know_ you’re trying to flatter me.”

“I mean it,” Shepard insisted, grinning—she could tell from his tone of voice that he _was_ flattered. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you these past few months. You’re someone I know I can always trust to have my back; you can’t know how much I needed that. And I want to be that for you, too.”

Garrus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mandibles fluttering bashfully. “You probably say that to all your squad members,” he muttered, though he sounded rather pleased.

Shepard rolled her eyes. “Obviously I want the whole squad to watch each other’s backs. But there’s no one I trust as much as I trust you.” She grinned and added, “And I have ‘golden standards,’ remember?”

“Ha, right,” he replied, and Shepard was fascinated by the multitudes of emotion in those two syllables. Layers of surprise, fondness, appreciation, and a dash of embarrassment were identifiable amongst plenty of others she couldn’t parse. She needed to do some research on turian subharmonics. “You know,” he continued after a pause, “you’re my best friend too. Thanks for having my back.”

“Right back at you, Vakarian.” They smiled at each other, and a deep sense of comfort settled in her chest. It was nice to know she didn’t have to face this alone.

“Ready to get back to it?” Shepard asked finally, nodding toward their rifles.

“Just one more thing.” Garrus shifted uncomfortably. “What I said about…things changing while you were gone. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Thanks, Garrus. But it’s okay.” She stood from the rock and turned to face him. “So. Are we good?”

He rose, and suddenly Shepard was faced with seven feet of armored turian. They rarely stood this close, and it was hard to know what was more striking: the sheer height of him, or the realization of just how much warmth those icy blue eyes could hold. “We’re good,” Garrus said, picking up his rifle. “For now. But you might hate me by the time we’re done with this ‘training.’”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Shepard said, grabbing her own weapon and sauntering past him, casually bumping his shoulder as she went by. “It’s only a matter of time before I’m a better shot than you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me as I was playing through Mass Effect 2, and realized I could come up with a way to write the new weapons abilities that you get on the Collector ship into the actual story. I tend to play as a Vanguard, and so theoretically this is the first time in the series that my Shepard can equip sniper rifles. Who better to teach her than our favorite scarred-up, visor-wearing turian?
> 
> All feedback is welcome. Thank you so much for taking the time to read!


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